A Muse of Fire
by Mina Janke
Summary: With Meggie's hesitance to read aloud after the death of her family and the disappearance of Fenogilo, Capricorn discovered Petra, a deadbeat who's been gifted with the ability to bring objects and people from stories. However, there's more to her gift that what people see. Set in an AU version of Inkheart where Meggie and Fenogilo's plot to kill Capricorn failed.
1. Petra, the Deadbeat

"We got her!" A high pitched voice yelled from down the street. Petra glanced behind her, and ran on, to where the road turned again and drew an arrow pointing right, the next direction where she would run. They were close behind her, but she wasn't going to give up that easily. Laughing, she drew another arrow pointing straight ahead and ran on, until she felt a tiny body jump up on her. "Caught you!" A young girl announced as the others piled up on top of her. Petra tumbled to her knees, cradling one of the kids heads, to make sure they wouldn't hit the ground. She had lost the game.

Laughing, she sturdied herself under the weight of the children and made an attempt to stand up. "Alright, I lost, but now it's time to go back to your mothers." Petra stated, much to the dismay of the children. She heard some whines, but most of them agreed to go, and got off of her back. Most of the children said their goodbyes, but some demanded that she walk them home. It didn't bother her, she enjoyed playing with the children on her street in the summer afternoons. She picked one up, who climbed on her shoulders, and the other latched herself onto her arm, making Petra lift her up and up constantly. Petra, alongside the children, took an alley between the houses to get to the next street over. As they turned a corner, she bumped into a man dressed in black smoking outside of his car. Although she apologized, the only reply she got was a gruff grunt. She shrugged, and continued pulling the kids along, curious as to why someone would even want to be wearing all black in the heat of summer.

As she reached the door of the children's house, the mother was already waiting on the doorstep, smiling, but with a worried look in her eyes. Petra handed the children over to the woman, and before she could turn and leave, the mother leaned in very close to her: "Miss Tremblay, I'd make sure you take extra care in locking your doors tonight, there've been strangers around town today, and I don't want any harm coming to you." She sounded genuinely concerned, but Petra just gave her a smile in return.

"Don't worry Vrouw Lommel, who would want to go after a house filled with nothing but books and paintings anyway?" Petra joked, heading back towards the walkway. "Send Anneke and Ferdi my way tomorrow, I'd be more than happy to look after them again." She waved, and continued on to her house.

Petra and her mother's house was on the corner of the street, a mess of a place, now that her mother spent most of her time doing business in South Africa. It stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of houses with well tended-to yards, it hadn't been cared for in months. Grass was growing up well above the short fence they had around it, to differentiate it from the house next door, and a rose bush with wilted and dried out flowers grew wild just underneath the window. No matter how many times Petra had slaved away, trying to fix the yard, it just didn't want to be fixed. She was convinced that nature hated her, so she kept indoors and painted instead, whenever she wasn't playing with the children. Her mother was the gardener in the family, and had her father been alive, he probably would have done just as good of a job in the yard.

Aart Tremblay, Petra's father, had passed away in a fire when she was near fifteen. She had forgotten many memories of him, but the one that was most prominent was the times he argued with her mother, about apparently owing something to a man he had made a deal with. After that argument, their home had burst into flames, and Petra and her mother were the only ones to make it out. Her mother rarely told stories of her late husband anymore, but Petra always enjoyed the ones of how they met, two young students who met while visiting Seoul, one Dutch and one Korean. Once, they had been romantic, but as the years went on, their relationship grew sour.

Petra pushed the metal door open, it hadn't been locked, but it didn't bother her. It was a good, small town, no more than a little over one thousand people living in it. Nothing bad happened. All of the families she knew were good families. The inside of the house wasn't in terrible shape. Could it be in better shape? Yes, but at least one could walk about it.

She was glad the foyer's tile floor was still cold. It relieved some of the summer heat on the hottest of days, but when she went into the kitchen, Petra was greeted by a burst of hot air. She'd forgotten to close the doors opening to the garden in the back. The house didn't have any air conditioning, so she would just have to bear with it.

Dinner was a boring array of meat and potatoes, all drowned down by the last bottle of her homemade beer. Petra wasn't good at any form of cooking, the potatoes were bland, and the meat was overcooked. Dutch cooking was rather boring, but not near as boring as hers. Every night was meat and potatoes. Whenever her mother was home, they'd have dishes from all around the world, home cooked and delicious. Petra was too afraid that she'd set her kitchen on fire if she attempted cooking something other than meat and potatoes.

The doors leading out to the garden creaked, moving back and forth a bit. It was curious, as there was no wind, but Petra dismissed it, elbows deep in scalding water, trying to get the dishes clean. Before she could utter a single word, a hand wrapped around her head and covered her mouth.

"Shh, Shh," The voice cooed, whispering in her ear, "we wouldn't want those precious children to be harmed, would we?" Petra's eyes filled with fear and her body tensed up. Her eyes closed for a few seconds, trying to recollect her thoughts and calm herself down. She didn't know what she was to these men, but she didn't care, so long as the children she played with were safe. "There we go," he said as Petra relaxed her muscles, "see boys? Women are the easiest to handle. They always have something they care about." The man dropped his hand from her mouth, but kept a firm grip on her shoulders, as if a reminder that she was to be weary of any move that she made.

Petra's eyes darted around, in an attempt at finding the other men this man was talking to. There were about three others, standing in her living room and dining area. It was a small house. She heard the creak of footsteps in her cellar and the clinking of glass, and another, enormous man appeared, with several bottles of wine in his hand.

"Can she even understand us, Cockerelll?" The large man asked, setting the bottles down on her table, staring at Petra as if she were some creature from another world. "People in this blasted place all speak a different language, you travel three hours east and it's something completely different."

Before the other man, Cockerelll, Petra guessed, could speak, she spoke up for herself, "Of course I can. We learn English, French, and German in school these days." Her voice was laden with a thick accent, but she didn't stumble over her words. She was offended, that this man thought that she wouldn't understand them. Several questions ran through her mind all at once, some were good questions, some were just terrible, and she asked the most obvious of them all. "Why are you in my house, and what do you want? I don't have any money, if that's what you're after."

The men laughed. The tall one, whose face looked like it had been smashed in with a club, replied, "Actually, we're after something a little more close to home." He chuckled, and smirked at Petra.

"Me?" She asked in surprise. She only wondered what kind of terrible things they would do to her. Men frightened Petra, but she never let that show. "What on earth could I possess that people like you want?" She didn't consider herself pretty enough to fulfill _those _kinds of wants, her face was like a child's and looked like an odd mix of Dutch and Korean. Genetics just didn't like her.

Again, the men laughed, even harder this time. "Oh dear, it seems she's forgotten about her special talent," Cockerelll mused. Talent? Petra had no talents, other than painting, and people just didn't get kidnapped these days for being able to paint. In reply, she just looked at him dumbfounded.

"Seems like she's just plain stupid, Cockerelll." One of the others joked.

Cockerelll sighed heavily and pushed her over to her bookcase. "Pick something that doesn't have anything that will bite or attack and then read, or else we're going to go down the street and cut the throats of those children that you hold so dearly."

Oh. That talent. Petra hadn't realized that anyone else besides her mother had known about that. How could they have known? She didn't have time to ask for questions, though, instead she chose a book on wildflowers, to comply with this man's wishes. The young woman flipped to a page, and pressed it down with her thumb, to keep it open.

"The Cornflower is a small flowering plant that used to grow as a weed in cornfields," Petra began, trying to keep her voice steady, "which is how it got its name. It is now endangered, and is grown for ornamental purposes. It flowers from June to August and can be used in salads-" And suddenly, a light blue flower appeared on the table in front of them. Petra was quite impressed with herself, because she had never been able to read anything out of a technical book.

Before she could reach out to the flower, Cockerelll picked it up, and waved it nonchalantly. "This is the talent we're talking about. Our master is needing your talents. Now, if you'd be kind enough to cooperate so we don't have to drag you out." He gestured to the front door. Petra gulped, she had a sinking feeling that she'd never set foot in this house again. If her neighbors' children hadn't been in danger, she would have fought back, instead, she agreed to go with the men. The only thing she asked was to be able to lock up the house.

Outside, it was growing dark, and Petra spotted one of her neighbors locking up their car. The woman looked at her odd, suspicious of the men that were trailing her. "Good evening Vrouw Ulferts," She called, smiling, "I'm just showing these kind men to the train station, they got lost on their way there and asked for my help." Petra was shaking. She didn't want the lady to think the wrong thing. "Send my love to your mother, I hope she gets better soon!"

The tall man chuckled behind her, maybe impressed with how well she pulled off encountering another person. "She may be as dumb as a brick, but she's an awful good liar." He commented as the van was unlocked. It was the van Petra had passed earlier in the day, and suddenly, she recognized that the man she had bumped into earlier was Cockerelll. Funny how the world works.

Petra was given a lecture about how she should act as she was pushed in the van, seated between Cockerelll and one of the other men. Though she acted as if nothing was the matter, she was trembling inside, absolutely frightened about what would become of her. What if her talents didn't live up to their master's expectations? Would she be sold on the black market or locked away forever? She dug her fingernails into her thighs as an attempt to calm herself down. It wasn't working. When Petra lifted up her hands from her thighs, she saw that she had accidentally drawn blood. She didn't realize that she had been digging so hard with her fingernails. Luckily for her, none of the other men seemed to notice. They were too busy idly chatting amongst themselves. Petra tried to listen in on their conversations, but immediately became confused. Something about fires and a man named Capricorn, but she was too afraid to ask what they were all about.

And so she sat in silence as the van began to drive off, the town becoming smaller and smaller as they drove on. Soon, the drone of the car on the road began to lull the young woman to sleep.

_Author's Note: Finally updating and re-uploading these chapters. Petra's gift differs a bit from Meggie, Mortimer, and Orpheus' abilities. While she's decent at bringing out objects and people, her true gift is her ability to bring a world's magic along with that person as well as being able to send them back immediately if needed. However, she cannot read out things from her own writings. Please enjoy!_

_note Sept. 19: I changed the age Petra's father passed away, I just realized that I'm very awful with math. Three plus nine does not equal twenty._


	2. Wasted Bravery

Petra hadn't slept for very long when the van had stopped at a gas station for jolt of the vehicle stopping shook her awake. She was in an unfamiliar place, a rather remote area, a lonely gas station surrounded by a forest. The sky had grown dark, and outside, she could see the stars clearly. This was a very remote place, far from light pollution and people. One of the men was seated next to her, supposedly keeping watch on her, but he was sound asleep, a line of spit dripping from his mouth. Though Petra wasn't sure how long they'd been parked at the gas station, this man probably had grown tired from watching over her instead of smoking and enjoying a cup of coffee inside of the service station. She hadn't been tied up to anything, perhaps they thought that since she'd been so willing to go along with them, that she'd willingly stay put?

An idea sprung into her head. Petra slipped out of her seat, onto the floor of the van, careful not to shake it. She peaked her head out of the door, grateful that it was facing the opposite side of where the rest of the men were. With care, Petra managed to slip silently out of the van unnoticed. Even the click of her shoes hitting the pavement barely registered in her ears. Though she didn't know where to go after this, she would go as far as she could. Judging by the sign of the gas station, they were still in Germany. She wasn't sure where in Germany, though. Home could already be too far of a walk for her. Maybe she could phone for help in the next town. At least that wouldn't be too far on foot, she hoped.

Once out of the van, Petra straightened herself up, her back popping, and ran like a madman, her tangles of hair flowing behind her like a lion's mane. Her legs ran as fast as they could into the forest in front of her, uncaring if she encountered burrs or thorns. Once she got far enough in, she could hide out until the men got tired of trying to find her. Nothing could be worse than what was waiting for her after this journey. She paused for a moment to catch her breath behind a large pine tree, surprised that she had yet to hear the clatter of the men. Had they not noticed that she had run off? Perhaps they were searching for her in silence. That couldn't be true, though, all of them were loud and argumentative. They'd be arguing for hours before they even got around to trying to catch her.

Five minutes passed before she heard the shouts of the men: _"you idiot! You were supposed to be watching her, but instead you sleep? Wait until Capricorn hears this!", _she could hear one yell. Petra began running again, but she began realizing what a terrible runner she was. Before long, she was aching to catch her breath again. Being extremely short, she hadn't been graced with the ability to use her leg length to propel herself even farther. She was even shorter than most teenagers during their first major growth spurt, and this was one of the few times in her life where she wished that she were as tall as some of her friends had been, because now, when she glanced behind her, a group of the men were already catching up. Her few moments of freedom ended when her foot caught on a wild, thorny vine. Petra was sent tumbling down, collecting a wonderful display of cuts as her body caught on branches and thorns. Still, she tried to remain steadfast, trying to get back on her feet. However, she was abruptly stopped when the ground began to flatten.

Just as she was about to get on her feet, a gun went off and Petra shrieked in pain. Her shoulder had only been grazed by the bullet, but it hurt like hell. She reached a trembling hand towards her wound and felt for damage. It burned so terribly, but she was determined to not let the others hear her pain. If she had looked in a mirror that night, Petra would have been able to see the bruises her teeth made from biting her lip so hard.

Cockerell was the first to reach her, and when he did, he pulled her up to her knees by her tangled hair and held her forcefully, a gun pressed against her neck and a foot on her back as if she were some beast he'd just slain.

"You stupid bitch," He laughed as two others caught up with him, "You thought you could get away from us?" Even if Petra wanted to, there would have been no way of being able to fight was weak, in shock from the bullet hitting her. Her whole entire body was screaming in pain, her arms and legs were badly cut from all the thorns, and she could feel the bruises forming all over. Petra's limbs trembled. She was so frightened now. Before everything felt like an elaborate dream, she hadn't come into real physical harm until now. Her eyes closed slowly as she made an attempt to show Cockerell that she was giving up. Eventually, Petra could no longer support the weight of his foot on her, and she crumpled down to the ground like paper.

Strong arms picked her up as easily as one would a sack of flour, and slung her over a shoulder. Petra was being taken back to the van again. Her body ached as she was carried. It always looked so comfortable in the movies, but laying over someone's shoulders wasn't the most comfortable thing. Tears were beginning to form in the corners of her eyes, but she pushed them back, not wanting these men to see any weakness in her. She had to become stone, nothing would be able to move her. Petra was more than tired now, she was exhausted. She had nothing left in her to fight against them.

Petra was thrown into the back of the van this time, she didn't move one bit, after hitting the cold metal floor. She inched her body into the first corner she could feel and curled up, too weak to do anything else but lay motionless. She didn't even have enough strength to open her eyes.

"I love it when the girls have fight in them." The large man with the odd voice joked as the door was shut. Petra held back the urge to vomit. What did these men want her for? She still had difficulty trying to understand why they needed her ability. It wasn't a helpful thing to have, more annoying than anything else. She couldn't even read to her neighbor's kids anymore since she had accidentally read out a dragon. Petra was lucky that she could send things back just as easily as she did bringing them to her world. When the van started up again, Petra curled up tighter, holding her knees against her body for warmth. It was growing increasingly colder.

There were no more stops for the rest of the journey; the van eventually screeched to a stop the next morning. The sun was peeking into the windows of the van, warming Petra's face. She carefully got to her knees, wincing in pain, and peered out of the window, investigating the landscape. It was a grassy, brushy area. She could see olive trees and grape vines growing on the rocky land. A village was perched on a hill, houses scattered about, some looking old and run down, but others in fairly good condition. Atop the hill was a large building, possibly an old watchtower or fortress. It was very possible that this village was as old as the Crusades. Petra noted a few women scurrying about the village, clad in black, very much like the men who had kidnapped her. What kind of place was this?

Petra hadn't even noticed the doors of the van open, and the man who pulled her out. She was forced to stand, but immediately, her legs crumbled underneath her. The events of the previous evening suddenly rushed into her head. Everything hurt. But as one of the men reached to pull her up, she swatted his hands away. "I can take care of myself," Petra demanded as she put her hands out in front of her, and pushed herself up. She sturdied herself, and was finally able to stand. Immediately, she was pushed along a rocky path, leading her to her fate. Describing her as frightened was an understatement. Petra was terrified to the very core of her body.

The young woman was led through a labyrinth of houses and alleys, up and down stairs, and underneath archways. It was impossible to make a mental map, there were so many hooks and turns. Men leaning against the buildings, all clad in black, stared at her, hungrily, as if they hadn't seen a new face here in a very long time. Petra was stopped in front of what was once a church, and the doors swung open.

For a moment upon walking into the church, Petra had forgotten that she was still alive and on earth. Stepping into that church seemed more like stepping into the mouth of hell. The walls were the colour of blood, the décor simple, like a cheap throne room. Men dressed in the same black she had seen this whole trip were scattered about, like a murder of crows. Amidst this sea of blood and black was a single, white figure, willowy, his face gaunt, stretched over his cheekbones like the canvases Petra stretched. His suit was a canary yellow, his boots black, and his eyes as cold and as vacant as the sea. Had she known better, Petra would have considered him beautiful in an ethereal sense. He didn't look of this world. Beneath this man, she noted, was a shadow, but darker than the rest, and it seemed to move and have a will of its own. It seemed to be inspecting Petra just as closely and carefully as this pale man was. This shadow reminded her of a wolf, but empty and full of nothing.

"Cockerell, I was sure I asked for her unharmed." His voice was strong and clear, as if he were a king of sorts. It projected throughout the entire room. "I distinctly remember seeing a pretty, young girl when we first came across her." The man looked unimpressed.

Cockerell stepped forward, "This pretty, young girl decided to make a run for it, Capricorn"

"And that required to make her purple and blue? Cockerell, you're losing my patience. Your violent tendencies have jeopardized several other jobs already. If this girl doesn't heal without a single scar or damaged limb, the blame will be on your shoulders." This man, Capricorn, was unimpressed, furious with Cockerell, who said nothing in return, and just stepped behind Petra again. Capricorn stepped up closer to Petra, inspecting each and every feature of her. He picked up her sore arms, flipping them over and over again, looking carefully at the colourful splatter of bruises, as if her life depended on it. He almost seemed unimpressed by her dark, freckled skin, despite the bruises. The man gripped her chin with one hand, turning her head from side to side. He had to bend down to reach Petra, she was so short.

"Ah, it looks like she'll recover just fine, lucky for our Cockerell." Capricorn smiled as he rubbed the top of Petra's head with his fingertips, as if she were some sort of pet. He turned, sat back down on his chair, and stretched out. His hand flicked, motioning for Petra to step forward. Carefully, she took a few steps closer to where the man was seated. "Come closer dear, I'm not going to bite." She was pushed closer to his chair by one of the men. Her legs were making it hard to stand, they began to shake from standing so long, but Petra tried to remain steadfast. She was having a competition within herself. If she stayed standing, she'd win, but if she fell over, she lose. The only thing at stake was her pride.

"What good am I for you?" Petra asked, with a spark of courage, trying to keep her voice steady and clear, masking her heavy accent as much as possible, "I'm just a painter from a small town, nothing special. I'm not this spectacular person you all think I am." She swayed a bit, slightly dizzy, but steadied herself. Capricorn raised his brow, as if he were annoyed at her speaking.

"You'll speak when I ask you to speak." He said coldly, with a slight grin. Capricorn was trying to get under her skin. He stood again, looking down at her. "It doesn't matter to you why I need you. All that matters is that you're in my possession now," he said curtly.

Petra was never going to get her answer. Capricorn was just going to keep playing cat and mouse with her. It was growing increasingly more and more difficult to stand and this wasn't helping at all.

"We once had honored guests, quite like you, who dared to change the course of this story in order to kill me. Now, one of them is missing, lost in the pages of his own book, and the other one has lost everyone she could ever care about." Capricorn paused, as if he were truly savoring the moment. He was trying to frighten her even more, "we searched all over the place for a new storyteller until we found him," he nodded towards a man in the corner, who seemed to be diligently scribbling words on paper. He didn't seem to look abused or stressed. Petra wondered if he had come here willingly. Capricorn continued, "He can do what you do, lure things out of their inky homes, but the words he writes are far more useful. He can't bring his own creations to life. You, though. You do something different from any other, you're perfect for our writer, and his words are perfect for you."

Petra wasn't quite sure what to think. She pitied this girl that he mentioned, although she had yet to see her. She had watched this writer's expressions as Capricorn talked about him, though. It was obvious that he had an ego. He seemed to glow every single time he was praised. His beady eyes were glued to Petra from the shadows, inspecting her. She didn't like him, nor did she like the way his face looked like Brie that'd been sitting on a cheese plate too long.

Capricorn began to speak again, but Petra was unable to hear anything he was saying. She only caught glimpses of the words as they passed by; something about "test", "Paper", and "book". Everything was cloudy and muffled, and a shrill, ringing noise soon materialized in her ears. The next thing she felt was the cold of the flagstone floors against her head and the sight of the tops of Capricorn's boots. Petra had collapsed. She felt the presence of the other men surround her, but she failed to recognize any of them.

She could feel that she was being carried again, and sat up in what seemed to be a musty shed. Straw was thrown about the floor, as if it would add some sort of padding. The last of what she saw was Cockerell's face as he closed and locked the door, "Mortola or someone will be by sometime to tend to your injuries, sweetheart."

Everything was dark, and Petra was alone. She couldn't help but cry.

_Author's note: I had so much fun editing this chapter and changing things around! I apologize ahead of time for inconsistencies, I think I got them all, but it's hard to tell. Please let me know if you see something! Thanks for reading!_


	3. Naked and Afraid

It had been several hours before someone finally came by to look at Petra's injuries. During that time she had contemplated several ways to get out of her current situation: hanging herself by her shirt (but she realized that she didn't want people to find her half-naked), stuffing her face full of the moldy straw until she passed out, even beating down the door wasn't beyond her. The darkness frightened her, she had never been surrounded by so much darkness. She couldn't even tell if it was night or day anymore.

A jingle of keys woke Petra from her daydreaming. One of Capricorn's men was at the door, ordering her to stand. It took her some effort, but she came to her feet and was immediately pressed out the door, a gun against her spine.

"Where am I going?" She asked, a hint of irritation in her voice. If there was one thing that bothered her, it was that nobody told her anything. Petra knew that honestly, there was little to no chance of her captors telling their captive about their plans. The man leading her said nothing in reply and instead just pressed the gun more forcefully to the point where she could've cried out in pain.

It was unbearably hot, despite the fact that the sun was just beginning to set over the hills. Petra could feel the heat soaking the soles of her shoes as she walked towards the building that she had identified as an old fortress. She was shoved through a side-door, into a hallway that smelled like fresh bread and herbs. As she was lead closer to the smell of food, Petra realized how hungry she really was. Her stomach rumbled so loudly that she was certain that the man behind her could hear. She hoped that her destination wasn't a kitchen, there was no way of being able to predict her actions if she came across food.

Of course she was taken to the kitchen. There were a few women dressed in black scattered about, tending to food or plucking chickens. A tall, stocky woman with a shining black braid spoke up, "Leave her here, Mortola will be back in a minute. She's dealing with that witch girl again." With that, the man who'd led Petra here left in a hurry. No doubt he had more duties to fulfill before the day was over.

Petra had no idea what to do. Should she sit or stand? Was she allowed to talk? The stocky woman frightened her. "Sit," the woman ordered as she glanced up from her work. She was kneading dough as if it were no problem. Petra tentatively sat in a wooden chair placed at a small, wooden table in the center of the room.

Minutes passed when eventually, an elderly woman burst in the room, straining from what seemed to be swollen feet. The way she looked at Petra could curdle milk. This must be Mortola.

"Strip," she demanded as she pulled out a bowl and several herbs from a shelf. Petra glanced nervously around her. She wasn't embarrassed by her body, but after seeing the way the men were treating her, she worried about any of them seeing her. However, after another glare from the woman, Petra hurried to shed her clothes. They were filthy and in tatters.

Without a word, Mortola began soaking Petra's cuts with whatever mixture she had made in the bowl. Another woman had brought over a bowl of water with what seemed to be lavender floating in it. "Wash your face and your hair," Mortola said, "you look like an ape."

Normally, Petra would've argued with the woman, but whatever she was soaking her cuts in felt wonderful on her skin. She discovered that a lot of what she thought were cuts turned out to be just dirt. The lavender-water mixture did wonders on her hair, the tangles fell out easily, and her hair was clean in no time. She hoped that Mortola wasn't expecting her hair to look all calm and relaxed, though. Petra's hair was naturally unruly. For a moment, she forgot about everything that was happening to her until she saw that the large woman was disposing of her clothes.

"Wait!" Petra cried, "those are my only clothes."

Mortola scowled, "don't worry about that, girl. I wouldn't even present you to Capricorn looking the way you did when you crawled out of the cages." Petra glanced at her clothes, they were nasty, but they were her last things from home. They were taking everything away from her. Petra was just Petra now, pudgy and dark-skinned, naked in a room full of strangers. "You're not going to cry now, are you? I will throw you back outside in the dirt and leave you for the men if you do."

Petra hated this woman. Had she been a stronger person, she would've strangled Mortola right on the spot. Instead, she chose to stay on her good side for now. "No. I'm not going to cry anymore," she said bravely, keeping her voice from quivering. She was determined to not let anyone see her weakness, but suddenly the door burst open.

Petra shrieked and hid her face behind her hair. Apparently she wasn't as brave as she thought she was.

"Damn child, no need to wake the dead." She recognized that voice. Petra peered through the curtain of her hair and whispered a silent prayer to herself, hoping it wasn't who she thought it was. Petra already knew that the man who burst in the door was Cockerell, though. His shoes made quiet taps on the floor as he approached her and Mortola. "I'm a little disappointed you didn't invite me to this party, Mortola," he joked as he picked up a tuft of Petra's hair and ran it through his fingers. Chills were sent up and down Petra's spine, and for once she was grateful for the fact that her face was hidden. It was red with fury. She could feel her blood beginning to boil.

"I'm guessing you're the errand boy today after your mishap with her?" Mortola asked with a hint of sarcasm, seemingly unaware of the way Cockerell was looking at this unimportant girl she was tending to. "Give me that dress and get on out of here. Maybe you can help the girls with the laundry if you're so keen on spending your days with the maids." This woman was stone. Petra wasn't sure if she wanted to love this woman or hate her. She hardly seemed to care for Cockerell, but at the same time, she didn't care for Petra at all. There was no way to read this woman.

"I was hoping that I could continue and watch the show." He cooed as he brushed Petra's hair off her shoulder. She was livid at this point, and she felt a small spark of bravery arise in her. Petra reached towards the table behind her, feeling for the first thing she could get her hands on. A cast-iron pan found its way into her hands, and without a second thought, she swung it at Cockerell, striking him hard on his chest, ripping the dress from his hands as he stepped back in shock. In a flash, she threw the dress on her. Never had she been more grateful for clothing than today.

She hadn't fully realized what she had done until she felt a hand on her throat. "You're lucky Capricorn wants to see you in one piece," Cockerell hissed. Petra glanced out of the corner of her eye, searching for Mortola, who'd given up on the whole situation. She was busy cleaning up her herbs and medicines. Petra was panicking, she was going to die here in this room. Her panic made her feel as if she was really choking, but as soon as her heart rate slowed down, she realized that the grip around her throat was merely just a show of power.

Cockerell moved his hand to the back of her neck and began pushing her out of the kitchen and down the corridor of the fortress. Petra could hear the sound of men laughing and having conversation as she neared a large, wooden door. The moment Cockerell began opening the door, she saw the extent of the damage she had caused. He winced as he lifted his arm to turn the handle. No doubt that underneath all of the black clothing, his arm was bruised deep purple.

"What's that Cockerell? Having troubles opening doors nowadays?" Petra heard a voice mock as she was pushed into a dimly lit room. Candles were carelessly placed around the room, she feared that she'd trip over one of them and set the whole place aflame. It wouldn't be too bad of an idea, had she not been held captive. She'd been here less than twenty-four hours and she already wanted to see this Capricorn man burn.

"Ask her," Cockerell scowled as he shoved Petra into the center of the room. Expectant eyes looked at her, as if she was expected to explain why his arm was weaker than his counterparts remembered.

Quietly, Petra muttered, "I hit him with a cast-iron pan."

The room burst out with laughter. Conversation exploded amongst the men, however there wasn't a single word praising Petra. Not that she expected it, she was just an object to them. She couldn't help but feel happy at the thought of Cockerell being ridiculed. The room fell silent as another door opened. Capricorn was here. Behind him, Petra could see the face of the man who was doing the writing.

"Did you really let such a tiny thing beat you up, Cockerell?" Capricorn laughed. His laugh was frightening, it had no emotion at all. Like the sound of a knife tapping a glass, clear and empty. Petra's eyes carefully watched him as he took a seat in a large chair at the front of the room. He waved his hand, and a maid was soon at Petra's side with a book tabbed in many different places. This maid was different from many of the others, young, almost still like a child, with so much pain in her eyes that Petra could have cried out of sympathy for this girl. However much she would've liked to continue reading the eyes of this girl, she was sent away to a corner, awaiting further instruction.

"Turn to the page with the blue marking, read the underlined portion." Capricorn demanded. He was testing her. Petra wanted to throw the book at him and dart off, but she wouldn't even have gotten out of the door before his men would catch her. She was also fairly certain that his patience was running thin with her.

Petra examined the book closely, running her fingers delicately over the spine. _Inkheart_, the book was called. She made a careful effort to discreetly smell the pages of the book, and suddenly, memories burst into her head like fireworks. Memories of her father, her house burning. "I-I-I remember this book from when I was young," she stuttered, "I got in trouble for bringing it to school." It was even the exact edition she had read as a child. The book had been too dark for a child of seven, but it was Petra's favorite book growing up. She had forgotten completely about it, but now all of her memories regarding this book had returned, the neat, cursive lettering she had used for her name on the back cover, her crying over the death of her favorite character, Dustfinger. Petra flipped open the back of the book. If this was her book, then... "_Eigendom van Petra Tremblay, zes jaar oud_" she whispered, reading the faded words in pencil. _Property of Petra Tremblay, six years old._

This was her book.

Feeling the weight of everyone's stares on her, Petra cleared her mind and focused on the matter at hand. Reading. She flipped to the page that had been marked off for her, her eyes carefully glazing over the words she was to read. It wasn't too difficult of a passage, but something was bothering her. The characters' names were too obscure for them to exist in her world, so how in the hell did a man named Capricorn exist.

"Shit." Petra paused. "You're actually Capricorn. Someone brought you here." She looked at the man sitting in the chair, wide-eyed. If this was really the Capricorn from the book, she had much more to fear for than she had originally thought. Suddenly, Petra felt ill.

"In the flesh." Capricorn teased as he absentmindedly began inspecting his hands, "I don't care if I'm from that cursed book or from this world, but I told you to read for me." Upon seeing that his hands and fingers were in perfect shape, he held them out in front of his face, admiring them. "I suggest you get about that now, or else I'll be forced to let what happened in the kitchen repeat itself. My men haven't seen a pretty new face around here for awhile." He smirked, obviously amused with himself.

Petra straightened up, alert, as soon as he mentioned what had happened earlier. It didn't surprise her that he knew, he probably had ears all about this village. She closed her eyes for a moment and shut everything out, the quiet chatter of the men, the shuffling of their feet, nervous about what she was about to bring out. "Very well." Petra said in reply.

All grew silent as she drew her first breath in sharply, "_Many men worked for Capricorn. They came from all walks of life, they pledged their lives to him, to serve him without question. The most loyal of his men, and perhaps Capricorn's own personal favorite was a man known only as Firefox."_ Words rolled involuntarily off of Petra's tongue. Everything in her was trying to get her to stop, but her life depended on this now. "_Some say he was Capricorn's only childhood friend, others say that he was born from the flames. His hair was as bright of a red as fire and almost seemed to move in ways flames only moved. He lived for Capricorn, eager to light a house aflame if so was the order. It was certain that one day, he'd be the successor of the fire-raisers._"

Before her stood a man, the very man she had described. It was as if he had just walked out of the pages, in a daze. Petra was a little surprised that he even came out in once piece. It wouldn't have been unheard of her accidentally bringing a person in multiple pieces. Never would she have expected to bring someone living and breathing out. Even Capricorn seemed surprised as he watched on hungrily.

"Wonderful," He exclaimed excitedly, "we can finally stop depending on useless Cockerell." It was difficult to see on the surface, but Capricorn was certainly amused.

Petra had successfully passed her test.

_Author's Note: Now we're finally on new content! The past two chapters had just simply been re-written. I'm kind of excited to finally get this rolling again. Please enjoy_

_Sept. 20: I apologize for spelling or grammatical errors that may have been made! I wrote and uploaded this during psychology, but everything should be fixed by now._


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